


Sure Know How To Run Things

by guti



Series: Real Panem [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU in which Iker is a District One mentor and Sergio is District One's escort.<br/>Iker doesn't like to talk about his PTSD, but now he's been dragged back to the Capitol to serve as a mentor for the next Hunger Games.  Sergio is an escort in training assigned to get Iker to an event on time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure Know How To Run Things

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble related to an AU a friend and I have been working on. Not sure what else might come of it, but I hope people enjoy it! No slash yet, it's meant to be a slow burn.

He'd gotten used to being a nobody. Growing up in the Capitol, in a world of glitter and glamor, where shiny, powerful people ran the world, anyone who wasn't in the upper echelons was forgotten and left in the dust. Sergio may have been from the Capitol, but his parents were nothings. They'd been comfortable, but only just. They didn't have excessive funds to spend. So he learned from a young age not to take hard work for granted. 

Maybe that was why it never sat well with him when the other members of the support staff were wasteful and lazy. Of course, he knew who he was and where he was, but Sergio liked the way it felt to earn something, to really deserve. It irked him to be surrounded by entitlement. But who was he to criticize? He wanted to succeed. He wanted to be the head escort for District One. And he'd never be the next District One escort if he didn't pay his dues and get with the program.

At least the mentors weren't so bad. Well. Some of them anyway. Cashmere and Gloss, the brother and sister who'd won in consecutive years awhile back, were pleasant enough, though they mostly kept to themselves and to their own personal assistants. There were others too, older Victors who paid Sergio little mind and seemed absorbed in coaching the most recent crop of volunteers. It was to be expected.

Only Iker Casillas existed as an enigma. He seemed so quiet, hardly ever smiling, hardly ever looking at anyone besides the new Tributes. Sometimes it was unnerving, operating around a person who didn't even seem to notice he existed. He should have been used to it, really, but with this guy it was different. It was like Iker didn't want to see him. Or maybe he simply couldn't. Either way, Sergio was content to work with the other Victors, running mindless errands while aiding in strategy brainstorming sessions. Or just eavesdropping as he could. It was a good education for the future.

It wasn't until the night of the annual Caesar Flickerman interviews that he was actually given a task that needed his full attention in completing. After the Tribute interviews, Caesar was planning a star-studded look back on the games of the past, featuring the past Victors commenting on the prospects of their newest Tributes. It was to be the crowning moment of the evening, and all of the past Victors were needed. 

This included Iker Casillas. And getting Iker Casillas to a Capitol function was going to be a problem.

And thus Sergio was given the assignment to rouse and prepare the Victor for the affair. The rest of the contingency would leave early to attend the main interview portion of the event, leaving Sergio two extra hours to coax the elusive and ornery man from his suite and ready him for public consumption. A true test of for an escort in training, if ever there was one. He wouldn't balk at the task, no. He had to get it done. Moreover, he had to get it done correctly. There were standards of behavior to meet, protocol to follow. Lots of rules, so many rules. And Sergio wasn't about to break any of them.

After the others had departed, he went straight to Iker's door and knocked. On receiving no reply, he knocked again, louder this time. Three more knocks came and went before he got an answer.

"Go. Away."

Well now. That was no good. Sergio frowned at the door. "Hey, Iker. It's, um, Se– …" Would Iker even know his name? Huh. No, probably not. "This is your escort for the evening. It's time to get ready for the interviews. It's a big night. Big, big night. So, uh, let's go."

There was a long space of silence. No response. No nothing. His frown deepened.

"Are you alive in there?"

"Yes I'm alive."

"Okay great. So how about opening the door? I'm here to help you get ready. Caesar Flickerman is wait––"

"Do you think I give a shit about Caesar Flickerman?"

Oy. Sergio cleared his throat. "Apparently not. Listen, man, this is your gig. You know how it works. You don't need me to tell you why this is a big deal. So why don't you open the door and let's just get this over with, yeah?"

More silence. Great. Sergio was literally rolling his eyes when the door finally opened a crack and he found himself face to face with Iker. "Oh." He said, looking Sergio up and down. "It's you. Fantastic."

Sergio was about the ask what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but he instead found the door was now open to him and he was being silently invited inside. And being an entitled Capitolite, he did exactly that. The room was… well, it wasn't clean exactly, but it wasn't a total disaster. He'd seen far worse in his time as an escort, but it somehow felt strange to be invited into his man's personal haven, his one spot of solace in a city that had called out for his blood. For whatever reason, being allowed inside felt personal, and thinking back, Sergio couldn't remember Iker ever letting the other escorts into his room. This was different. It was strange.

"Yeah, so the new stylist sent up an outfit for you and I'm supposed to make sure you don't forget to put the shoulder pads on with it. Or something." He stopped gaping at the room long enough to make eye contact with Iker. The look on his face was almost adorable. He had no idea it was possible to maintain such an unimpressed expression for so long. Sergio couldn't help but crack a smile at him. "Look, I'm just the messenger, man. You can't be mad at me."

"Watch me." And with that, Iker abruptly turned away and stalked off across the suite. Where exactly he was going, Sergio couldn't tell. It's not like he could escape, with Sergio between him and the exit.

"Hey wait! Where are you going?" Sergio was laughing playfully, not maliciously.

"I'm getting ready, idiot," came the response from the walk-in closet.

The young escort rolled his eyes again and took this as an opportunity to kick some of the piles of clothes on the floor into slightly neater piles. "Well, hurry up. They're gonna chew my ass out if you don't show up on time."

There was a clattering sound from the closet before Iker's voice came echoing out. "Yeah, about that. Who the fuck put you in charge of this? That's low. That's disrespectful. I feel disrespected."

Sergio felt his spirits fall. Wow. Iker Casillas really was the asshole everyone had said he was. He opened his mouth to spout out some nasty retort, but apparently the other man wasn't through with him yet.

"They didn't even give me the coffee bitch. They give me the coffee bitch's coffee bitch. What the fuck?" 

Seconds later, he emerged, mostly dressed in some glittering monstrosity of a costume. Sergio couldn't bring himself to smile anymore. All he could do was scowl at him. "Yeah, well, no one else has the patience to put up with your bullshit, Iker. Everyone else has better people to worry about. So you get me. And I'm all you're gonna get. So fix your fucking tie and let's go. We're already late."

That felt great, it really did, but he could have said more, told Iker what he really thought of him. Maybe he would later, on the way to the ceremony. Chewing him out for his general dickishness would be so sweet. Sergio started preparing a mental list of all the dumb, demented, rude ass stuff Iker had pulled ever since he joined the staff. He would rant and rave and berate him in the car and it would feel awesome. He took pleasure in the idea and was looking forward to it when the first round of fireworks went off, marking the beginning of the interview sessions.

"Fuck. We're super late." He looked at his watch, then back to Iker. "Hurry your ass… up…"

He'd been expecting to see Iker huffing or frowning or generally being a slow, oafish prick. Instead, the man's face was pale, white as a ghost's really. And he stood perfectly still, immobilized. Haunted. Hunted. Terrified.

"Hey…" That was all he could think to say right away, though instinct soon kicked in and he found himself rushing to Iker' side. "Hey, buddy. What's up, man? You okay?"

Iker didn't say anything, he just stayed where he was, shellshocked and hollow, and practically scaring the hell out of Sergio And he stayed that way for far too long, long enough that Sergio felt the need to sling an arm around his shoulders, to try to guide him toward his bed, to settle him down. That, though, that was the moment the second round of fireworks went off, and that was the moment Iker chose to strike. It happened so quickly, before Sergio could react to defend himself he was slammed back first into a dresser, then pushed even harder into the wall. The wind was knocked out of his lungs. He'd been blindsided. And above all else, he was livid.

"The fuck?!" He coughed, pushing back against Iker's grip. It was instances like this when his strict work out routine came in handy. Iker may have caught him off guard, but he was about to prove that he could fight back. Somehow, Sergio summoned his strength and broke free, elbowing the mentor and forcing him to stumble back. "The fuck was that for, asshole?"

Unfortunately, the ghostly look was still in Iker's eyes, though it was rapidly dissolving into something else. Something sorrowful. Something which was truly horrified. "I-I… I didn't. Shit. That's not…" Iker fumbled with his words, panic sweeping over him. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean any of that. I'm sorry."

For once in his life, Sergio acted sensibly. He watched Iker face as it crumbled into fear, then reached out to him, gave him his hand. "That was mad fucked up, you know that? You can't pull that shit with me anymore, got it?"

Iker blinked, surprise registering in his eyes. "Wha–?"

"I'm serious. You can't fucking freak out like that." Sergio held tight to Iker's hand, refusing to let him go. "You need to get your shit together, man."

"Says who?" Iker snapped, yanking his hand away like a wounded animal caught in a trap. 

"Says me." Sergio barked back. "You don't even know my name, but that doesn't fucking matter. You're stuck with me now, asshole. You can't just slam me into a wall and then think we're gonna go back to existing around each other like nothing fucking happened." He shouldn't curse around the Victors, he realized, but frankly, he didn't care. If he was going to be an actual escort, he'd have to deal with bullshit like this all the time. Might as well put on his big boy pants and get some practice in. "I'm your fucking escort, Iker. Show me some goddamn respect and let's fucking deal with this."

"I already apologized." Iker said, though he held Sergio gaze. Sergio couldn't help but feel like the other man was looking for something, searching him somehow. It felt like his whole soul was being vetted right there on the spot. He felt naked, exposed, bare and cold. But neither one of them would flinch. Finally, at long last, Iker spoke again. "What's your name?"

Sergio snorted. "See, I knew you didn't even know my name."

"Good job. So what is it?"

"It's Sergio."

"Sergio." He seemed to chew on the name, roll it around on his tongue. “I'm Iker."

Sergio quirked an eyebrow. “Just Iker. Not Mister Casillas? Not his victoriousness? Not the Saint of District One? "

The older man snorted, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “No. Just Iker is fine." 

“Okay. Iker it is." Sergio stood up straight, adjusting his disheveled clothes, giving Iker a somewhat disapproving smirk. "Okay, Iker No more bullshit. Whatever's going on in your head, you gotta keep it together, because the next time you lunge at me, I'm gonna kick your ass."

The Victor's lips twitched slightly. He almost let himself smile, but he couldn't quite. Not while he still looked so haunted anyway. "I said I was sorry."

"I know you did. But are you really?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sorry. It won't happen again."

"No, it won't. We're on the same fucking team. Teammates don't attack each other." Sergio was really insistent on driving the point home. 

"I'm sorry, Sergio I didn't mean it and I feel like a scumbag. Now can we leave it alone?" That was as close as Iker could get to pleading, it seemed. 

The younger man watched him, then ran a hand through his hair, like he could play it all off. "Yes." 

But only for now. Not for forever. Iker Casillas was still an enigma, still an unknown factor in the puzzle that was Sergio life and career. But one thing had subtly changed between them. Sergio was no longer an unknown to Iker.


End file.
